Half Past Eleven
by sweetdreams-sunnymornings
Summary: R & S cope with the aftermath/trauma of Steph's kidnapping by Stiva. A short 5, 6 chapter follow up to Take a Chance. Also the epilog to Eleven on Top. Morelli is here, more sad than bad but Cupcakes may not like this story! Backstory on Merc R Babe HEA
1. Chapter 1

**A/N-this story was inspired by a fic by Wendy whose awesome stories were at Plumstyle Fanfiction. I hope if she ever reads this it'd be OKAY w/ her….Standard fanfic and fanfic-fanfic disclaimers apply.**

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><p><strong>Cupcakes warning<strong>: if you love Morelli, you probably won't like this story, although Joe is more sad than bad.

One of the little things in 17 that bothered me a lot was when Morelli tells Steph:"Yeah I'm a nice guy." which has always been Ranger's sort of wryly humorous line! [the contrast between his bad guy image and his real self...].

**This story takes place right after Take a Chance. **It is also** MY epilog to Eleven on Top**. In my Plum World, JE's books take place at random times; please don't try to make the timelines merge, ok?

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><p><strong>Half Past Eleven <strong>

**.**

_from __Eleven on Top__, pgs 304, 305 hc: I tumbled out and fell into Ranger's arms. He was as stunned as I was. His eyes were dilated black and the line of his mouth was tight. "I saw you folded up in there and I thought you were dead," he said..."I've had six really bad hours looking for you. I need to know you're safe."_

_._

_**Coming home with Ranger after the Stiva arrest. **_

_[Stephanie]_

**We walked out of the police station** at about 3 AM. Ranger was silent at my side. Hal and Tank veered off silently to their Explorer. Someone had (of course) delivered Ranger's Porsche and left it parked in the fire lane in front of the cop shop.

Not towed, needless to say, not even a ticket.

Ranger's lawyer handed me his card and said, "Please call me if you ever need anything. Anything at all."

He got in his Lexus and drove off. Ranger beeped open the Turbo and said, "Where to, babe?"

I just looked at him. I had no idea what to say, where to go.

He helped me into the car and fastened my seat belt. Laid a little rubber just to annoy the cops on duty.

We drove a few blocks in silence, then he said again, "Steph? Should I stop for coffee? Donuts?"

I just shook my head.

When I opened my eyes we were pulling up at the Rangeman garage entrance. I was suddenly so relieved to be here with Ranger and not in a confrontation with Morelli that tears started running down my face. I bit my lip and turned away so Ranger didn't see me crying.

"Babe, looks like Morelli got a ride, do you want to see him tonight?"

Joe was getting out of his cousin Mooch's car, hobbling on his crutches. So much for no confrontation.

Morelli was having issues with our break-up. My helping him out this past week had maybe led him to think we-he-still had a claim on me. I sighed. "I guess I better do this now, get it over with."

Silence from Ranger.

"Can we go up to your apartment and talk?"

"Call me in my office when you're done."

"No! I want you there with me!"

"Are you afraid of Morelli, babe?"

"No. But he just doesn't get it yet. I was only at his place to help him out, as a friend. You know that's all it is."

"Problem is, he doesn't, babe." Ranger reached out and took my hand, the hand that now wore his rings.

"Please, Ranger."

….

_[Ranger]_

**I knew she'd gone through a lot** and desperately needed some down-time, but here was Morelli with a full head of steam just about to burst. And all on Steph's head. How could a man who supposedly loved a woman be so blind and selfish? Morelli was all about Morelli. If he gave her too much trouble he'd get thrown out, I promised myself. _Or I'll kick his stupid ass._ Steph had been crying in the car, she never cried. And even now she was quivering like an exhausted greyhound, pushed too far and too long.

_[Joe ]_

**They got out of Manoso's Porsche** Carerra 911Turbo. He had parked in a space in front of the elevator along with his other personal cars—the big Ford truck Steph loved, a 700 series Mercedes sedan, a BMW 830Ci sedan and a Porsche SUV. Need I say, black, new and shiny? _And who the hell buys a Porsche SUV?_ I thought. The other cars in the garage were an assortment of shiny new black Rangeman SUVs—Explorers, GMC Yukon Denalis, and Land Rovers. A Lincoln Navigator and an Escalade truck. All with black tinted windows and the very expensive alloy wheels. Ranger treated his staff well, it seemed.

There were a few other cars that weren't black, including an amazing yellow Ferrari with NY vanity plates that read ''ONESHOT" and a top of the line silver BMW 850 sedan and a cream BMW Z6 convertible. Even discounting the megabucks Ferrari that didn't look like one of Ranger's own cars, there was maybe a million dollars worth of vehicles here, maybe more. This place looked like a luxury import car dealer showroom.

We rode up to the penthouse. Manoso beeped us in with some high tech gadget. Jeez.

Steph immediately headed to the shower, leaving me with Ranger. The apartment was spacious and austerely elegant. Black leather and I presumed good antiques, lush carpeting, oriental rugs, real paintings on the walls. Like the personal cars it shrieked _Money, money, money._ I felt a major pang in my gut. _Envy,_ I realized with dismay. _This guy has it all._

Ranger handed me a beer and gestured to the cast on my leg. "Another fractured bone, Morelli? Maybe when you're feeling better you should come over here to the gym and I'll show you how to fall so you don't get hurt all the time."

I felt my face color up, not sure if what I felt was anger or embarrassment. I said sarcastically, "Oh yeah? I guess you never broke a bone, Superman? Didn't you ever injure anything when you were jumping out of planes playing soldier? Didn't anyone ever have the guts to pop you one and bust your nose?"

I was upset that I'd been helpless tonight during the search for Stephanie. And that yes I did have another broken bone. I was ashamed though as soon as I said the part about playing soldier. As far as anyone could tell from Manoso's extremely sketchy military records he had been one of the best, an elite soldier who performed effectively, even heroically. He had a lot of medals and commendations even though the rest of his file was wiped clean.

I sighed. I had been a regular enlisted man in the navy. I did my four years but I was never good enough for Special Forces. Certainly no asked me to volunteer for the SEALs.

Manoso looked at me and finally said, "Do I look like anyone ever broke my nose?"

I think he meant that no one would ever score a hit on him, he was too good, but I stared at him, actually seeing him for once. Usually I saw him through a haze that was partly red rage and partly green envy. I thought he was a thug and a lowlife, not too bright and not acceptable company for my sheltered Burg girlfriend. A muscle head. A mercenary. But-I knew women, including Stephanie, found him attractive.

And, yeah, okay_, his_ sheltered Burg girlfriend, soon to be his wife. I just couldn't get my mind around that, though. Stephanie is mine. Mine!

Now I looked at him and saw that no, his nose was freakin' _perfect_. Not touched by an ER doc's hurried hands and not repaired by a good plastic surgeon either. It had the straight elegant lines he was no doubt born with.

Examining him dispassionately I could see that he was truly a handsome young man, with fine features and beautiful dark Latino eyes. He had a wide generous mouth and gorgeous white teeth. Thank god he hardly ever smiled because his smile was blinding. And after seeing his home and the cars and this building, I was revising my opinion of his intelligence. He was smart enough to have made a lot of money and to have a lifestyle far beyond what I could ever hope to achieve. And he had the taste and sophistication to go with it.

Usually when Manoso talked to me, admittedly not much and not often, he spoke heavily ghetto, the slang and intonation of the streets and the projects. It added to his brutish thug persona. Tonight he spoke quietly with correct grammar and no hint of street. Like the affluent lifestyle, the accentless soft voice was a strangely discomforting revelation. How much was Manoso and how much was a con or a cover? And…did Steph realize? She must, she appeared to know him very very well. Too well.

_They're fucking engaged?_

Ranger looked at me some more and must have decided that the conversation wasn't going anywhere because he took his beer and sat down on the sofa. He closed his eyes.

"Sit, Morelli. Short showers aren't Steph's thing."

I felt my temper flare. How dare he tell me—me!—about my girlfriend's personal habits. But I took a seat across from him.

We sat, waited. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Manoso's mind was apparently elsewhere and he had not noticed, or was ignoring, my annoyance.

Finally Steph emerged, still toweling her hair dry. She walked in saying, "God, I needed that. I hope I never get another whiff of formaldehyde _ever!_"

She was interrupted by a knock on the door which was immediately followed by the entrance of two men when Ranger opened the door. I was surprised because Ranger did not seem like someone you'd just drop in on. One of the men was Ranger's cousin, Lester Santos. He and Ranger didn't broadcast their relationship but I knew they were family from police investigations I'd done on them both. And Lester looked a lot like Ranger, same build, same eyes and smile but very short hair. The other man was a stranger to me. He was young and blond, and yes, another good-looking guy.

Santos strode in and grabbed Stephanie, hugged her tightly and whirled her around. He kissed her soundly and said, "You scared the crap outta us, beautiful, are you okay?"

She smiled. "Sure, Les, I'm good."

Ranger told her, "Les and Antonio did the computer work that helped us locate the old lady in the tax office and find you."

She turned to the second man who like Santos pulled her into a tight hug. This embrace seemed a bit different though. This man held her close like Manoso had done earlier. He finally pulled away and they locked eyes, oblivious to all of us. He didn't kiss her but his eyes searched her face. His face was intense and strained, his eyes dark with concern. Steph gently touched his cheekbone with her fingertip.

Then she said, "Awesome hair, Anthony."

The guy had his long hair pulled up in a samurai style topknot, sides buzzed short.

Lester said, "He was so nervous he pulled out his braids!"

Steph said, "Oh baby, poor you." The guy frowned a little, said nothing.

I glanced over at Manoso to see how he was taking these intimacies. He was smiling his almost smile and looking indulgent. Steph went to Ranger's side and he put his arm around her waist. I could see how she leaned into him for support and comfort.

I thought, _Why am I even here? Steph obviously has an entire life here with him and his crew, a life I knew nothing about. These tough hardened men love her and she loves them back._

"Steph, come down to the comm room so everyone can see that you're okay. If you're up to it?"

"I'm in my pajamas, Les."

"We don't mind, you look real cute."

She did too. Little soft pastel and grey outfit, yoga pants and baby tee. Little white ankle socks. Very girly. Steph _never_ does girly. And why does she have clothes like that here anyway? She lives here now? Keeps pjs here? He bought them for her? What?

She hesitated. Manoso said, "Go ahead, babe, otherwise we'll be interrupted all evening."

She smiled and nodded. "But you guys"—her eyes included me—"will wait?"

"Yeah, babe." She and Ranger locked eyes for a moment. Whatever she read on his blank face reassured her, I guess.

"Okay, Les, c'mon."

She and Santos walked out, his arm slung around her shoulders. I could hear him teasing her gently, he had a soft attractive voice when he wasn't being Ranger's thug.

The blond guy turned to Ranger and they hugged tightly. They didn't seem at all embarrassed by my presence. Ranger finally mumbled something in Spanish, addressing the other guy as _hermanito_.

_Little brother? Who is this guy?_

Ranger turned to me. "Anthony Stewart. Joseph Morelli." He did the introduction coolly.

The blond man said, "The cop? The ex?"

_**to be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_previously: _**

_Ranger turned to me. "Anthony Stewart. Joseph Morelli." He did the introduction coolly. _

_The blond man said, "The cop? The ex?"_

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><p><strong>Half Past Eleven Chapter 2<strong>

.

_[Joe]_

**He didn't offer to shake my hand.** Ranger handed him a beer. Stewart took it but suddenly sat down and put his head between his knees, hands clasped behind his neck.

He said, "I can't take this. I'm gonna puke."

Ranger said, "It's just adrenaline."

"Yeah, right."

Ranger said to Stewart, "You gotta get a tougher stomach, _hermano_, if you're gonna hang around Steph."

Stewart got up and left the room.

Manoso just lounged on the sofa and closed his eyes again.

Stewart came back in after a couple minutes. He looked a little pale under his tan. When he returned Ranger gave him a plain Coke and set a dish of crackers on the coffee table. The kid sighed and sipped the Coke. I noticed he appeared to be left-handed. He looked at Ranger and said, "I used your toothbrush."

Ranger said, "…_su casa_, man." He added, "Everything go okay with the old lady?"

Stewart smiled, said, "Oh yeah. Money, like, smoothes everything, dude—you know, it's fucking amazing….."

He sounded like Steph's pothead pal Mooner.

The guy shrugged out of his grey sweatshirt. He was dressed in desert camouflage shorts despite the fact that it was a cold November night. Under the sweatshirt he had on a long sleeve grey t-shirt with a surfboard company logo and he was literally covered with weapons. I gaped at him, astounded by the display of guns in front of a police officer, myself. The man had a back-slung Uzi and he wore a double shoulder rig with Glock 9mms in both holsters. He had another gun in the back of his shorts and the left cargo pocket was obviously weighted with yet another gun or a knife. I just stared at him amazed.

He laid his shirt and the Uzi on the coffee table, flopped down on the sofa by Ranger. He picked up a cracker and just looked at it. I had a tiny moment of sympathy for this kid. Steph gave me acid reflux all the time. Ranger must have nerves of steel, he seemed so calm.

Inadvertently I made a slight scoffing sound. Stewart looked at me in response to my gasp. I looked him over too, wondering who he was and what he was to Stephanie. Their embrace had seemed so intimate but Manoso had not been upset by it. I did my cop appraisal as he stared back at me, expressionless.

He was young, probably a couple years younger than Manoso who is at least three years younger than I am. So this guy was maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight. I thought he was Caucasian or perhaps racially mixed Latino like Ranger and Lester Santos, only fairer. Hard to tell with their unusual exotic looks.

He was taller than either myself or Ranger, just a bit, maybe 6'1" and not as heavily muscled as Ranger. But fit and with the weightlifter shoulders. He was very good looking except for the strange hair, darkly tanned even in November. Beautiful eyes, dark Latino eyes like Ranger's, unusual for someone so blond, and a similar wide perfect white smile.

_Maybe they had the same orthodontist when they were kids,_ I thought snidely.

I suddenly realized that they actually looked a lot alike. Same face, different coloring. Like Ranger, Stewart wore large diamonds in his ears and a platinum and diamond Rolex watch. _Stolen? Counterfeit?_ I conjectured. He also had a visible tattoo on his neck, some sort of tribal pattern. I had no gut instinct or insight into who the hell this guy was.

Without really thinking I asked him, "Do you have permits for those weapons?"

He stared at me, blank scary eyes. No one's home eyes. Killer eyes.

This kid just morphed into something so scary he made Ranger seem benign. Hell, he made lunatic murderers like Stiva seem normal. Our silent confrontation became stark, frightening. My mouth went dry as dust and I desperately wished I wore my police sidearm tonight. Instead I reached blindly for my beer.

Ranger moved a tiny bit and broke the spell. Maybe he didn't want blood spilled in his immaculate, cushy apartment. Blood's a bitch to get out of pale grey carpet, I bet.

Slowly, right-handed, apparently so I'd know he wasn't on the attack, Anthony Stewart reached into a cargo pocket and drew out a slim triple fold wallet. He handed it to me. Ranger said, before I grasped it, "Anthony."

"It'll be cool, dude, no worries. Chill." I swear Ranger rolled his eyes.

Stewart jiggled the wallet a little, offering it to me.

I opened it up. Just for a moment, I expected a badge, maybe DEA or ATF undercover, because no way was this guy a cop or an FBI agent. Instead inside were credentials with photo ID, Homeland Security Anti-Terrorism Task Force. US ARMY Special Forces/Delta Force Contract Agent/Attached Civilian [Omega Group]: Stewart, Anthony Robert. Military rank of Major. Specially designated as a "Weapons Specialist-Hostage Safety Operative". On the facing sections of the wallet were extensive lists of gun and weapons permits—not local, not state. Instead, federal _and_ international. International carry permits are almost unheard of nowadays, post 9-11.

I said, "What's a hostage safety operative? Like a negotiator?"

Stewart did his stare some more and finally said, "No. I'm a sniper. I ensure the hostages' safety by taking out the bad guys."

He and Ranger both smiled at that. Big million dollar smiles. I guess they liked the idea, sounded good to them. Fuckin' cowboys.

The guns were legal though. I handed the ID back to Stewart.

He said, "Okay?"

I nodded. I was exhausted. It was as if everyone was something other than they seemed tonight. This kid. Manoso. Stephanie…..even old Stiva.

I had a sudden thought, the car with the "ONESHOT" vanity plates.

"Is that your Ferrari in the garage?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nice car. How can you afford it?"

"I have investments, if you know what I'm saying, dude. I got money in the bank."

He grinned. Big grin. Shit eating grin.

Stewart finally said, "Are you interrogating me, detective? Should I call my lawyer?"

I sighed and rubbed my face. I said, "No, I'm sorry, that was out of line."

Stewart paused then said, "Okay."

Then silence. We sat for a couple minutes. Despite my presence, both Stewart and Ranger had closed their eyes and seemed to have instantly fallen asleep. A military trick I never got the hang of since I had a hard time relaxing and letting go. The two men slouched shoulder to shoulder, bodies slack, beautiful faces relaxed. They leaned into each other just a tiny bit: affection? comradeship? comfort? Friends…..

…. ... ...

**Since the other men had fallen asleep**, Morelli kicked back and examined the space where he was sitting. It was open, spacious.

_I guess you'd call it a loft_, Joe thought.

There was no stereo, no TV, no phone. Not a speck of dust. No socks on the floor, no shoes under the coffee table. No _TV Guide_, no _Sports Illustrated_. Except for the Uzi on the coffee table, it looked like a photo shoot.

The air was cool, bordering on chilly. It smelled nice, very faintly herbal or astringent.

Surrounding the room were big, office building style windows, open to the nightscape of the city, very beautiful from this 7th floor vantage. Dark discreet drapes, plus shades, all drawn aside at the moment.

Joe looked around some more. Behind him to his left was the dining area—big dark polished wood table, simple lines—an antique? Dark upholstered modern chairs. The table sat eight; nothing on the table, just polished old surface glowing under dimmed, pendant modern lights.

The entire room was carpeted in pale grey velvet wool broadloom. The dining table and the area where the three men sat were anchored by oriental rugs—Joe's mind said "old lady Persian" not realizing they were fine Bokhara antique silk and wool with soft faded coloring, the treasured patina of age and value. The rugs were similar but not matching, the one in the living room in shades of grey, black, khaki, spread before the black hewn granite fireplace. Above the mantel was a painting, modern, dark, not of anything.

At right angles to the fireplace were the two big very plain black leather sofas where they sat. Then facing the fireplace were two mid-twentieth century chrome and leather chairs. Joe didn't remember who designed them but even he knew that they were _something_. Real? Copies?

The large coffee table was age-blackened wood with inset squares of polished glass. Some glass panels were matte instead. There was a remote on the coffee table but no clue what it did. To the right was another antique cupboard, dark wood. More paintings, all very modern, not pictures. The paintings seemed beautiful to Joe but he had no idea what they were…could be junk from the mall wholesaler or costly works from a fine gallery in NYC. Who the hell knows.

Joe sighed. _A guy with those cars does not own junk art. Everything in this apartment said money and good taste._

Except—against the windows behind the seating area was, Joe just shook his head, _"How pretentious!"—_a large, classic, black grand piano. It was situated so that the player could look out at the skyline as he played.

A few other end tables, some with an oriental feel, all old-looking. Simple lamps and halogen point lights in the ceiling. No mirrors. No colors.

_And not only no TV_, Joe noticed—no books, no magazines, no photos, no doodads, no clutter. How did anyone live like this? Joe shrugged mentally. _Actually,_ he thought, _it suits Manoso. Very tightly wound….anal. Perfect._ OK-calm, serene, composed, Zen.

Did it drive Steph crazy? How could she stand it? Or maybe she actually liked the no muss/ no fuss look, though it was miles and eons from the homey congestion they'd known as kids in the Burg—or their own just a bit beyond dorm current places.

Joe estimated that the living room and kitchen took up maybe half of the building's space. What was the rest…bedroom suite? Obviously a bathroom since Steph and Anthony had both used it.

Joe was bored, wished there was a TV. _How is it possible not to have a TV?_

Ranger said, "It's in the study."

Had Joe spoken out loud? He echoed, "Study?'

"My office? Uh...den?" Ranger translated polietly.

"Oh."

Ranger crooked his chin towards the back of the apartment. "I didn't want the big screen TV in the living room. There's a flat screen in the armoire." —faint chin jerk towards the big cupboard— "...And another in the kitchen, on the fridge."

_On the fridge? Not to mention the surreal quality of the word 'armoire' coming out of Manoso's mouth..._

"Who plays that piano, Ranger?"

"Who the fuck do you think plays that piano, Morelli? Jesus, don't be such an asshole."

"Hard to imagine."

… ... ...

_[still Joe]_

**Our conversation woke Stewart who** started to silently gather himself and his guns. Both he and Ranger were again instantly alert. But I finally could see the mental and physical effort it took and realized that they had worked long and hard to rescue Stephanie. Stewart was visibly exhausted. Ranger showed less but he too seemed subdued. They both had dark hollows below their cheekbones and a hint of violet shadows under their eyes.

Manoso said to Stewart, "Aren't you staying?"

"No."

"Not driving, hermano. "

"I don't know….." Barely there voice.

"Sleep here, you're wasted."

"I gotta work in the morning, I need to be in early, man. I got a deal breaking, you know what I'm saying?"

I wondered about that _deal._

"You want me to come in?" asked Ranger.

"No, no, stay with Steph. But thanks."

"You could use a mental health day, too, Antonio."

"Yeah when I'm like, dead."

Ranger said, "You need to eat something, Anthony."

"Okay, mom. Listen, I gotta go, tell Steph I love her."

"Take the chopper. Bobby can fly you out."

Ranger picked up the house phone in the kitchen and made a call.

I thought, _Oh geez, this guy has his own helicopter, too. No wonder Steph wasn't satisfied with me and my cop salary._ But I realized that again I was being unfair to her.

Stewart got up and put his sweatshirt on, turning away to pick up his Uzi. His sweatshirt said, in big black block letters: **Special Forces-Joint Operations Task Force**. Guess he was the real deal, weird as he appeared.

He turned and did a tiny Ranger-style nod, quarter inch tilt of the chin with eye contact. He said, "Detective."

Manoso walked him to the door. They spoke briefly in Spanish, just farewells, I thought, and something about the market in the morning_: mercado a la mañana._ Market? Huh? If Spanish was their first language they had been polite enough not to use it in front of me.

They embraced again and again I was surprised to see Manoso do the physical affection thing. Stewart mumbled, _"Mañana, llamame, Carlito."_ Then he was gone. [call me tomorrow]

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n** For those of you who are expecting a Ranger Joe conversation, remember Ranger usually is an "actions speak louder than words" kind of guy. And so...

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><p><strong>previously:<strong> _Stewart told Ranger, "Call me tomorrow." And he was gone._

**Chapter Three**

**.**

_[Joe]_

**Just as Manoso was closing his door**, Stephanie came back in. He hugged her and asked her softly how she was doing.

Steph said, "I'm fine, Ranger. I need to just get this over with. I need to talk to you—both. Um—do you think Anthony is okay?"

"I don't know, babe, you mess up his mind, he loves you a lot. He was stressed when we couldn't find you. He was fuckin' scared. He's not used to being scared."

"He pulled out his braids!"

"Yeah."

They smiled.

She kissed his cheek and hugged him again.

Ranger followed her into the living room. He seated himself next to Steph on the sofa facing mine and he made a point of sitting between us. Not to be possessive but to protect Stephanie from me, I realized sadly. As they sat down Manoso briefly clasped the nape of Steph's neck.

_More possessiveness,_ I fumed.

But Ranger said, "Babe, your hair is still wet. C'mere."

Stephanie smiled at him and slipped down to sit on the plush carpet in front of Ranger, her back to him. He leaned sideways and opened a drawer in the black lacquer end table. He removed a wide tooth comb and a tube of Steph's anti-frizz gel. I recognized the brand she used to tame her awful wild curly hair. No way did Manoso buy that for himself, he had absolutely straight hair that was currently cut fairly short.

I watched what followed in disbelief. Manoso gently positioned Steph in front of him and he proceeded to comb and untangle Steph's ghastly mop. He added the frizzies gel and worked it through her hair, massaging her scalp and neck as he did so. Then he again combed through the hair and began twining it into a complex braid of some sort. I think Steph's nieces called it a french braid? Manoso's hands were practiced and deft, the resulting hair style elegant. The severe style threw Stephanie's fine features into high relief. I thought she looked exhausted but so beautiful.

Ranger finished off the end of the braid and Steph handed him an elastic. he handed her the comb.

Ranger said, "All done, babe."

But he continued to rub her shoulders softly. I could see her finally relaxing, her eyes drooping and her body listing with fatigue, leaning into Ranger's leg. After a moment he gently drew her up on the sofa by his side.

I sat in shock.

What the hell did they just do here? This was the most intimate, sensuous interaction imaginable. _This was foreplay,_ I fumed. I could not have been more stunned if they had fucked right in front of me. For Steph, who never ever allowed displays of public affection or ownership, who never did girly and who never sat still—for her to allow Ranger to handle her like that—and for badass Manoso to comb and braid the awful mess of her hair, and how the hell did he know how?—well, it was all just fucking unbelievable.

The scene had played out in serene silence, as if the two of them had all the time in the world and as is this were a commonplace ritual for them. Certainly he had done her hair before…..though I had never seen it braided like this myself. I felt like rubbing my eyes—_did this just really happen?_ And in another part of my brain, I was cringing with disgust. I couldn't imagine brushing Stephanie's hair, it was one step away from a really scary nightmare in my opinion. I _hate_ her hair. Yet Ranger made it seem so erotic. So—omigod—so _loving._

He loves her—a lot. More than I can ever know or equal. I think what finally got to me, _got through_ to me—was how gentle he was, how affectionate. It wasn't something I wanted to think about but probably—_surely—_they shared a raw sexual passion. Stephanie is hot, loves sex, as I well knew...but beyond that there was something more, something I couldn't fathom, especially coming from Ranger Manoso.

I gathered my wits and said, "Stephanie, I came here tonight to end this once and for all."

Manoso went taut as a coiled spring. Guess my words weren't the best choice.

Steph put her hand on his arm and said to me, "What do you mean, Joe?"

"I mean—I came here to make you choose—finally—between him and me, Cupcake." I willed my voice to remain steady, hating the way it was breaking. Just like my heart. "You don't have to, to, to marry him, I'll take you back, Cupcake. I'll forgive you! We can be together!"

Manoso and Stephanie stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had, I don't know. But letting her go...letting go of my dreams...

No. I looked at his hand on her shoulder, then at her hands with the enormous diamonds he put there, marking my Cupcake as his. _No. Please no. But..._

I finally said, "But I see I'd be wasting my breath. You and Manoso—you fit together, you are a pair…he loves you and you love him."

"Joe—"

"God, Stephanie, you never looked at me like that. And—he braided your frickin' hair! I can't compete with that, Cupcake."

Steph said, "Braided my hair?" And turned to Ranger questioningly.

He nearly smiled at her. "Babe."

I continued, raising my voice somewhat and they both turned back to look at me. I said, "So-—t's over. Have a nice life. Be happy. I hope—maybe someday?—we can be friends."

"Sounds good, Joe. I'll call you. Pizza at Pino's. Okay?"

I looked at Manoso to see how he took that but he was looking at Steph and just for an instant his heart was in his exhausted eyes. He would love her and support her decisions always.

_How does he do that_? I asked myself. Surely Ranger was as alpha male as I am, maybe more so. Certainly he was used to being in charge, being the boss. He had been an army officer and ran this big complex security corporation. But somehow he didn't feel the need to be the boss of Steph. He loves her the way she is, not the way he wanted to think she might someday be.

_Okay. I get it now, please let me outta here before I make a fool of myself and start to cry. Regrets, I have a few. Oh yeah_…

"Goodbye, Cupcake….for what it's worth, maybe nothing, right? I did love you."

"Goodnight, Joe."

I got my crutches and walked to the door. Manoso followed me out and said, "Tank will drive you home, Joe."

His voice was quiet and sounded—kind. _Shit! Now I'm gonna find out he's a nice guy? Could this day get any worse?_

Ranger glanced up overhead. We could hear the helicopter picking up his friend Stewart. Manoso smiled his million dollar smile. He said, "He lives in the city, and he has to be up and alert when the stock market opens in a few hours—so he rates the heli."

I thought, _The city?_ Meaning NYC, I supposed. Then, _Stock market? The NYC Financial Stock Market? That kid with the guns? I so don't want to know!_

Ranger added, "Take care of yourself and consider what I said about the falling lessons." He smiled some more, even wider. "I've never broken any bones with Steph, but I've been shot a few times. Not to mention bleeding non-stop money. It's all part of her charm, Kevlar included."

I said, "You love her."

He said, "I do, yes. Goodnight, Joe. Keep in touch. Steph loves you too. In her own way."

_Isn't that the pits?_

Tank drove me home to my empty row house. He never said a word.

... ... ...

_[Tank ]_

'Cause there was nothing left to say.

... ... ...

_[Ranger ]_

Later Steph slept safe in my arms.

_I love you, babe. _

...tbc

* * *

><p>This was very short chapter so I'll put up ch 4 on Saturday night. If the power doesn't go out due to the heatwave,lol. Have a good weekend, enjoy. s<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_previously:_

Joe said, "You love her."

Ranger replied, "I do, yes. Goodnight, Joe. Keep in touch. Steph loves you too. In her own way."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four—<strong>

**.**

_[Steph POV - earlier, back at the Rangeman garage]_

**Morelli dragged his eyes from the array of Ranger's personal cars** and indicated to me that he really needed to speak to me _tonight!_

Amusingly his eyes kept wandering to Ranger's Porsches and the BMWs and on to Anthony's yellow Ferrari. I don't know why Joe was so enthralled because surely he'd seen most of Ranger's cars at some point. I guess it was just the effect of all of them together in one space. Ranger may still be somewhat of a mystery man but I do know he loves cars. Cars, guns, clothes. And he likes them expensive. And black.

And he loves me. My name is Stephanie Plum and I just got rescued from a demented undertaker's evil clutches. It's been a really long day and an even longer night. I'm tired and I'm hungry and I smell bad.

Anyway, the last thing I needed tonight was a confrontation with Morelli. And I had a feeling that the last thing Ranger wanted tonight was to witness that confrontation in his personal apartment. But he wordlessly acquiesced and we rode up to the penthouse. I left Joe gaping at Ranger's elegant loft and escaped to the shower. I trusted Ranger not to kill Joe while I cleaned up. Hopefully Joe would manage to be as civilized in the other man's home. Ranger was graciously handing out Coronas even as I closed the bedroom door.

Somewhat later I walked out of the bathroom wrapped in Ranger's robe, hair in a towel turban. I used the time in the shower to get myself together mentally but it was all I could do not to crawl into in Ranger's big wonderful bed and sleep for days.

_No! You can't leave Ranger to clean up the mess with Joe_, I thought. One last chore tonight, then sweet oblivion, I hoped in Ranger's arms. I tried to quell my exasperation. Joe knew Ranger and I were together now, we'd had this argument before. I briefly wondered about Morelli's grasp on reality, his sanity. But then wrote off his persistence to his spoiled Italian guy egotism. He just couldn't get his head around rejection. Idiot.

I put on some pjs I found in Ranger's drawer in his closet. Looked like Ella had been shopping for more than Rangeman uniforms for me. The baby t-shirt and yoga pants were soft and easy on my bruised body. I put on the little socks I found and walked out to the living room. I could see Joe, arms crossed on chest, expression set at _pissed off_.

And I could see Ranger's silky dark hair as he slouched on the couch with his head tipped back and his booted feet propped on the coffee table. He emitted no vibe, maybe was asleep or in his zone. Ranger could sleep anywhere instantly, that military thing. Same with his zone. Somehow Joe never learned either trick, maybe the Navy didn't teach it. Maybe it's an _Army_ thing.

I said, "I am so glad I got to shower! I must have smelled like…."

I was interrupted by a knock at the door. Ranger bestirred himself and went to answer it, opening the door to Lester and Anthony. I wondered if Ranger had called them for backup with Joe. I hoped not: despite his Latino charm Lester was an intimidating guy, third in command at Rangeman and Ranger's backup man when Tank was not available.

And Anthony was—well, _Anthony_. Sweet, adorable, lethal.

Lester grabbed me, hugged and kissed me, said how worried they had been.

Ranger said, "Lester and Antonio did the computer search to help me find you."

_So now I know they're just here to see that I am really okay. Paying their respects_. Not here to kick Joe' silly ass.

I turned to Anthony and was again wrapped in a tight hug. I wanted to hug him back but he is always so covered with weapons it's hard to find somewhere to embrace. I could feel his two shoulder holsters against my arms and when I first hugged him I encountered his submachine gun and a backup gun in his pants waistband. I finally spread my hands on his back at the sides above his waist and held him. He said nothing and did not kiss me but radiated freaked out vibes and deep emotional distress. No anger though, just love—Anthony loves me—_loves_ me, I mean. He set me away a bit and met my eyes. He let me know without words that he was okay because I was okay. I touched his face and his eyes darkened to black. He said nothing out loud.

Finally I said, "Awesome hair, Anthony." Diffusing the emotional overload. Thank god he wasn't angry with me. Deep down I never fear Ranger, even if he gets pissed at me. Anthony though...he's a little frightening, or could be.

I stood looking at his handsome tired face, remembering him in another place far away, telling me, _"I'd never hurt Ranger's girl no matter how, like, annoying you are."_

He caught my drift and now almost smiled at.

Lester said teasingly, "He was so nervous he pulled his braids out!"

Usually Anthony had cornrows or dreadlocks. Tonight his silky blond hair was knotted up like a samurai warrior. Weird but he was so hot it looked cute. Anthony truly is adorable with his Ranger eyes and face and smile. No thousand watt smile tonight though.

I glanced beyond the guys at Morelli. Joe was watching, to my surprise, Ranger, who looked fine to me, his expression neutral but his eyes loving and kind. I went to Ranger's side and he put his arm around me, radiating warmth both physical and mental. _I can always count on Ranger_, I thought as I leaned into his hard body.

Lester asked me to come down to the comm room. I looked at Ranger who said, "Go ahead, babe."

I thought he wanted time with Anthony alone so I left with Lester.

**The guys downstairs were happy to see me,** especially braless in the little outfit Ella had chosen for me. I gave Ranger fifteen minutes with Anthony then I excused myself and went upstairs. As I entered the foyer, Anthony was leaving. I could hear a helicopter and knew from the comm room chatter that Bobby was flying him home.

This time Anthony smiled and actually spoke to me. He said, "Ciao, babe. Call me."

_Jeez. Such eloquence!_

And he was gone. Ranger was by the door, watching us, _his_ non-smile in evidence.

I said, "Do you think Anthony will be okay?" I had expected him to stay the rest of the night here.

Ranger hugged me and kissed my cheek. He said, "I don't know babe, you mess up his head. He loves you a lot."

Obviously not something that bothered Ranger even though I was sure he realized that Anthony loved me in a not-just-friends kind of way.

"He pulled out his braids! "

"Yeah."

And we smiled a little because we both love Anthony even though he is a very strange and scary young man.

We went back to the living room. Oh shit, Joe was here. I was so exhausted I'd forgotten.

Ranger said, "Your hair is still wet, babe." And he sat me down in front of him. He proceeded to comb and braid my hair for me. He has done it many times and he is very good at it. The first time Ranger braided my hair he told me he had many sisters, in his parents' home in Newark; that they made little Carlos learn to do their hair. I shook off the confusion, Ranger and Ricardo Carlos Manoso are not necessarily the same man.

Whover the heck he is tonight, any night really, his hands are magic, his french braids are perfect, and his touch is like a wonderfully relaxing drug.

I handed him the elastic to tie off the end of the braid and I leaned against his thigh and knee. I was suddenly aware of the long silence and looked up into Joe's face. His expression was priceless. He was half shocked, half furious, and half titillated. Yeah, three halves. Only Joe!

I boosted my butt up onto the sofa by Ranger.

Joe said, "I came here tonight to end it all."

Oh shit. Ranger still wore all his weapons and I felt him tense up, the hand that was away from Joe's line of sight going for his backup gun in his waistband.

I put my hand on Ranger's arm—the other arm, I'm not an idiot—and asked Joe, "What do you mean, Joe?"

"I wanted to make you choose, once and for all, but there is no point, is there, Steph? It's obvious you love him, not me. And he braided your hair! I can't compete with that!"

_Huh?_

I said, "Braided my hair?"

I looked at Ranger. He smiled into my eyes and I zoned out, loving his face, his—aura.

Joe said, a bit loudly, "So this is the end. Maybe someday we can be friends."

"Fine, okay, pizza at Pino's soon. I'll call you."

Joe's eyes cut to Ranger as if he expected Ranger to object. Like he looked at Ranger when Anthony was holding me. I think Joe expected Ranger to get loud, go nuts, react like Joe himself would have done. But of course Ranger was just in his zone, doing the almost-smile, and looking beautiful. Exhausted, I suddenly noticed, but, yeah—beautiful.

_Why would Ranger object_? I thought. _He won the battle and won the war, so to speak. He got the girl._ And Ranger's form of controlling didn't extend to supervising my lunches at Pino's. Except to do _the ick-yuck not healthy, babe,_ thing. Ranger was more a _sneak bullets into my gun in the cooky jar, have Rangeman goons tail me_ kind of guy. _A find me at all costs and rescue me _guy. That hero vibe….

Joe said something about how he really did love me.

I didn't even try to answer. He never loved me, not _me_. He just loved some idea he made up in his head.

Ranger saw him out. Peace, finally. My eyes closed, totally exhausted. I felt strong arms lift me and carry me to bed where I was tucked in and wrapped in warm, Bulgari scented arms.

Just as I sank into deep exhausted sleep, I felt Ranger's mouth brush my forehead. He said, "I love you."

"Yeah, I love you, too, Ranger. Thanks for rescuing me today—twice. 'Night….."

...tbc


	5. Part Two Chapters 5 and 6

_**Half Past Eleven PART TWO **_

_**.**_

_**Chapter 5**_

_**.**_

_[Antonio POV]_

**Oh boy, I get a POV** finally….okay so like I knew Steph was fine because I'd spoken to Ranger but Les and I wanted to see her for ourselves. Well, I wanted to see her and Lester tagged along.

Riding up in the elevator to Ranger's apartment, I could see that Lester wanted to rag on me about being so strung out while I hacked into the Trenton tax records, looking for the old lady who could help us find out where Steph was being held. I cut my eyes hard to Les and he shut up real quick. I am one of the few people in the world who is scarier than Ranger and I make the most of it when I have to.

Anthony Stewart —lethal weapon. I grinned inside.

Ranger let us into his loft and Lester did the huggy-kissy thing with Steph. Then me—I mean I hugged Steph, not that Lester hugged and kissed me! Geez. I wrapped Stephanie in my arms and held her, doing a low key mind read as our bodies touched. She was okay, not scared just exhausted. She felt safe now with Ranger….I could tell she wanted to hug me but her hands fumbled around with my weapons before she found my body. Then she hugged me back. She smelled wonderful, clean and herbal. I breathed deep—she smelled like Ranger.

I looked over her head at the man himself. He smiled at me, just a little—benign and indulgent big brother. I wondered if I looked as bad as he did, but then maybe no one except me could see the fatigue in his eyes and stance.

I tipped my head back down and met Stephanie's eyes instead. She was asking me if I was okay. I conveyed to her that I was good as long as she was safe and unharmed. She touched my face to show she understood—my message if not the process. And she stepped away, going to Ranger's side.

Some chitchat, then Lester took Steph down to see the rest of the guys for a minute. I thought Ranger wanted to see me alone. I turned to him and we hugged. Outsiders are surprised that we are a warm family like that, but somehow it was bred into our make-ups, the Cuban emotional side that we couldn't verbalize. Or we learned it from my mom.

Ranger said in Spanish, "It's okay, little brother, you did good. You saved her. I found her in time-Are you okay?"

I nodded and turned to the sofas. I really wanted to sit down. I felt as tired as Ranger looked. And there in Ranger's living room sat a stranger who sure as hell looked like a cop to me.

Ranger introduced us.

I thought, _Why is Steph's ex-boyfriend here? Just what we need yet tonight._

Exhaustion finally overwhelmed me though; the adrenaline surge of the hunt suddenly ebbed, leaving me with a crashing migraine and a roiling stomach. I returned to the living room after puking my guts up. Ranger gave me a Coke—with sugar!—and some saltines. He meant well but just the thought of eating something, even a cracker, set me off in a cold sweat.

I removed my sweatshirt and then my Uzi. As I set the weapon down I caught sight of the cop's face. He was freaking out because of my guns, I guess. I don't know why—I certainly don't need a gun to kill someone. Lethal weapon: me. Remember? And once I took off the Uzi I had no more weapons than Ranger who was still fully armed including both Glocks in his shoulder holster same as mine. Ranger was always armed (and always dangerous) but he never wore his shoulder rig at home. He must be worried about something, I was assuming this cop.

The cop stared me down, finally asking me if I had permits for my guns. What an idiot. Did he really think that I'd risk a weapons charge by not having permits? Geez-Louise, as Steph would say.

On the other hand, he really didn't know who I am. I saw how he examined my face, even could see when he realized just how much I look like Ranger. But Ranger had only given him my name. And few people knew we were brothers, we don't broadcast it, of course. But we look a lot alike if you disregard our coloring.

I could just see the cop memorizing my stats for an APB: Blond/ brown/ 25-30/ 6'1"/ 175/ Cauc?/ left-handed/ tattoo on neck/ earrings. 2009? Ferrari w/ NYS lic plate ONESHOT. Armed and dangerous.

I smiled. All zillion watts.

Anyway finally I decided to put a stop to this nonsense and I fished out my Task Force credentials. I was gonna show Morelli my FBI creds and badge but the JOSFTF(Joint Operations Special Forces Task Force—the US military's anti-terrorism group) wallet has all my weapons permits listed. So I chose that one. Ranger started to order me not to show them, but I did it anyway. Ranger isn't really my CO—commanding officer—, we have parallel positions. Though technically I suppose he outranks me and if he'd insisted I'd have done what he told me. More because I respect him than because I give a shit about military rank nonsense. I mean, we're not _in_ the military, are we?...Oh. We are? Huh... But Ranger backed off and Morelli took the creds. The look on his face was priceless. It made breaking security worth every risk. He definitely _needed to know_.

This guy really was an asshole. He blustered on about my info then had the nerve to question me about my car! My car! My car has nothing to do with my black ops work—obviously. It does have vanity plates, Officer Morelli, not very subtle. Not to mention it's a _bright yellow_ Ferrari that cost three hundred thousand dollars. Myabe four. _Can you say undercover, Joe?_ Yeeesh. I couldn't believe it.

Finally he seemed to come to his senses and he actually apologized.

So I said, "Fine."

Ranger looked mildly relieved that I didn't draw my gun and shoot this guy and he relaxed on the sofa. I sat beside Ranger and immediately drifted off to sleep. Not a deep sleep but a doze. I was beyond tired. The search for Steph had been especially tense—she was being held by a homicidal maniac; she was the woman my brother was in love with, and she is the woman I love too. So the day had been rough and I was glad to sit by Ranger, feeling the warmth of his body and the calm of his mind beside me. Ranger's presence is like a shot of fine whiskey, relaxing and reassuring. I love Ranger. Women think they're attracted to Ranger 'cause he's so beautiful, so hot, that sex god thing, but they are wrong—it's all about his _aura_.

I drifted into a deeper sleep state, awakening when Ranger said to Morelli, "Geez, don't be such an asshole."

I thought, _Es verdad_. _True words, my brother_. And got up to leave.

I got my guns. Bobby flew me home in the chopper. Tomorrow—well, later this morning, I guess, I will complete my current deal and made a few hundred million bucks. Pocket change.

Just another day in the life. I get tired though—sometimes.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

_[Anthony still]_

Now it's later, I'm like, riding home to NYC in Ranger's heli. It's so late I may not bother to go to bed. Shower, shave, work. Oh—haircut, then work. Bummer. Way too late to go home to Long Island, so I told Bobby to drop me off at my place in the city. I guess it's maybe a 20 minute flight.

We—our family corporation really—own the renovated warehouse in Tribeca so we can sneak in and land on the roof. Ranger's personal helicopter is one of these fancy black corporate Bell-Jet jobs, teak dashboard and leather seats that smell like Ranger's shower stuff. The chopper is small and plush and fast. Kinda like one of his Porsches.

I'm not being snide or making fun of Ranger for owning this toy helicopter—I have the same exact chopper, we all do. Very useful in the city.

I watch the lights of the cityscape as we fly up the coast. Past Newark, into Manhattan. Despite the black hole where the Towers once stood, the panorama of NYC never fails to enthrall me, no matter how often I see it or how exhausted I am. And oh geez am I tired. Yeah, I know, I told you that before. But still. Anyways, Ranger called me, what?—yesterday noon from the road. He said Steph was missing, presumed kidnapped, no details at that time. He had just landed in Philly, from Miami. _Why does he fly out of Philly, Newark is closer…?_

He had flown commercial too, because he was picking up a skip. That always amused me—Ranger's dilemma with out of town bond evaders. How do you get 'em back to Jersey or wherever? Do you use your private jet and pretend it's a charter, or what? If you fly them home on a commercial airline you gotta sit with them. So do you put the felon in first class or do you bite the bullet (so to speak) and fly coach? Carlos Manoso in coach! _Hehehe_. Cute. I'm pretty sure Ranger never flew coach in his life until he assumed the Trenton bounty hunter cover persona. Maybe never flew commercial even. He—yes, okay,_ and I_—grew up in a world of personal helicopters and private jets. Oh well I guess he rode some military transport jobs, but that's another issue.

Anyway, I dropped everything at work, hopped in my car and went to Trenton. Not sure what I'd do to help find Steph but knowing Ranger needed me by his side. He has a great crew, some of the guys are real close. Tank is his best friend. Lester is a cousin and close friend as is Bobby Brown who is now flying this heli. They were all in the Rangers and then, well, you know—like, Delta Force, except Delta Force didn't exist back then, so they used to say—all together too, so...army buddies. But Ranger was/is their CO in the military and he's their boss now. Makes for a distance in the relationships, even if they think they're all friends. Whereas me—I'm his brother. Or half-brother if we must quibble. I don't work for him and he was never my CO. Nope. I'm just his brother and I love him.

Which brings me to the next reason Ranger called me. I do love him. But I love Stephanie too. I mean I _love_ her. I don't exactly know what she's got that attracts us—she's beautiful and hot of course, smart, brave, intuitive, and so on. But mostly I think it's her sweet nature that hides under a not very convincing veneer of Jersey girl toughness. She is intensely loyal, I'm sure she'd die for Ranger without a second thought. And she only sees the good in people, she's so trusting.

Watching Steph love Ranger is hard.

It's not hard to watch him loving her. He deserves to be happy. But I see how she looks at him, he's her sun, moon, and stars, her life. She is confused about me, she's attracted and she actually loves me too, but she can't figure out why. She sometimes thinks it's because we look alike, Ranger and I. I know we do, I can see it, hear it. So she looks at me and sees a —what?—a softer, younger, _easier_ version of Ranger? But intellectually she knows that's wrong. Oh I'm a few years younger, but I'm so tough and hard I can make Ranger look like Beaver Cleaver's dad. (Nickelodeon: god, I love satellite TV). And she's vaguely aware of the ESP as she calls it, our psychic abilities, but she thinks it's just a joke. She doesn't understand and I'm sure Ranger never tried to really explain. I hope I never have to either….

But what if. Would I love her if Ranger never met her, never loved her? Or am I picking up his feelings? And what if I _could_ have her, what if she were mine. What if it was my bed she'd sleep in tonight and it was me who could hold her tight, letting the hot tears of relief roll down my face in total silence, hidden by the night.

Oooops—I'm channeling Ranger, he hates that.

The chopper floats down and the rotors slow.

"G'nite. Bobby. Thanks for the lift."

"De nada, Antonio. Uh—"

"Yeah?"

I turn back to the pilot. His face is dark, illuminated only by the instrument panel lights.

He says, "You did good today, Anthony. I don't know what Ranger would do if anything happened to Stephanie. It would kill him too."

"No worries, man, they're blessed with cat lives." And I walk away.

I have cat lives too. But no one to share them with, just a girl that I love, a girl with wild curly hair, a hundred miles away now. A girl who sleeps in my brother's arms as he stares into the darkness and wonders how long the safe feeling will last. He says silently, in his mind, _I love you, babe._

I echo his words, in my head, _I love you, babe. Be safe._

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


	6. Part Three Chapters 7 and 8, the end

**Previously:** ... girl who sleeps in my brother's arms as he stares into the darkness and wonders how long the safe_ feeling will last. He says silently, in his mind, 'I love you, babe.'_

_I echo his words, in my head, 'I love you, babe. Be safe.'_

* * *

><p><strong>PART 3<strong>

**Chapter Seven**

**.**

_[Joe]_

**The next morning when I got to the TPD**, I sat at my desk and pulled up a search program on my computer. My broken leg had me confined to the building so I decided to check out the man I met last night.

I typed in the name: Stewart, Anthony Robert. Ranger had called him _Antonio_ but I was guessing that was a nickname because the credentials he showed me said Anthony. Very WASP-y name for a kid who looked at least part Latino.

The search protocol I was using was Deptartment of Justice. It could access FBI records, personal records, criminal records, and so on. It did not open any military files as those were protected by the Military Privacy Act. But I figured I'd get some kind of result.

What came up shocked me though. I hadn't run Ranger recently so I was expecting something like I got when I ran his name a few years ago. Ricardo Carlos Manoso had existed at that time but his records were sealed—all of them! Even his car registrations, if you can believe that. I also pulled some strings in DC and got his military records but they just had his name and a long list of commendations. No rank, no date of enlistment or discharge; no places he was stationed and no info about what he did when he was wherever the hell he'd been. Just all those medals, as if the ARMY respected him too much to hide those away.

But today when I pressed _enter_ for Stewart I got a DoD (Defense Department) screen that flashed:

**Files Do Not Exist/ Top Secret, CODE LEVEL RED**

**Access denied by order of HLS [DHS], under direction of the President of the United States:Executive Order #3658.902.0-1-01-873568.01.04**

**National Security Level ONE**

Homeland Security? I backed out of the program and sat thinking for a minute. Finally I typed in Ranger's name. Geez—same screen. I logged off, breathing a bit heavily, almost—scared.

I decided to let it go—for now. And started my day of shuffling paperwork.

Early afternoon I got a call to report to my chief's office. I got on my crutches and went in.

The Chief said, "Morelli. Sorry to make you come up here. How do you feel?"

"I'm good, sir."

"Okay, Morelli. I got a call today from—can you effing believe it?—Homeland Security. In DC."

_oh shit._

_''_Apparently you did some surfing on the web this morning and it triggered their files' security settings. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that my people were to cease and desist and refrain from snooping in their files. As a matter of national security, highest priority."

"Sir..."

"The man I spoke to was one thin hair away from threatening not just you, Morelli—he has me in his sights too. Like we cross that line and the black helicopters appear on the roof, you're never seen again. Got it? You looked up someone or more than one someone, who is very, very important to them. Like a VIP covert agent! Need I say more, Morelli? "

"No sir."

"Forget you ever heard the names you checked out, detective. The men in question do not exist for our purposes. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

I walked out on my crutches. I wasn't gonna argue with the Chief but how the hell am I supposed to forget that Ranger Manoso exists! He fuckin' stole my woman.

I sighed. Another Maalox moment, courtesy of Stephanie Plum! Then I wondered, _Could he really make me just, well, disappear?_

_Nah._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

_[R, A, S POVs]_

_**Ranger and Anthony ~informal meeting**_

"Remember that firewall I did a while back? If anyone tries to check us out it throws up a DoD screen and denies access, then I, like, get an email….?"

?

"Detective Morelli went right to the TPD computer and put in our names."

?

(laughter)

"It was awesome. Then I got one of the guys to call the Chief there and told him to control Morelli—or else."

(more laughter)

"Am I great, or what."

"You're the best, Antonio."

"If I'm the best, how come you get the girl?"

"You don't wanna go there, _hermano."_

"Well, actually…."

"Mine."

"Uh huh...By the way, you do realize it would be better if the firewall just denied our existance entirely?"

''This way is more fun."

"...Fun. Awesome. I could fix it so the firewall blows up the snoopers' computer systems."

"Maybe someday."

* * *

><p>[Steph]<p>

**I looked across the comm room**, my attention attracted by soft laughter and the prickly feeling on my neck saying Ranger was here. I peeked around my cubby wall. Yes—Ranger and Anthony, Ranger smiling wide at something Anthony was telling him.

Anthony was looking very fine today, I noticed. A week ago during the search when Stiva kidnapped me, Anthony had absentmindedly undone his dreadlocks, an unusual "tell" or fidget for someone so usually blank and calm. Since then he apparently had his beautiful blond hair cut. It was shorter than usual—loose and silky straight, medium cut on top with the very short sides.

Despite being blond the similar haircut made him look more like Ranger than ever and as they stood together, hands on hips, smiling their wonderful smiles, dark eyes flashing….my heart clenched with tenderness and love for them both.

Ranger must have felt my eyes on him because he turned to me and locked eyes. No doubt ESP-ing something, who knows what.

Anthony also smiled at me and said something low to Ranger who cut his eyes back to Anthony.

He said just one word too low to catch.

Anthony grinned even wider and then he came to me to kiss me hello. I smiled and ruffled his silky hair, so different from his braids.

"What's up, guys."

"Not much, babe. You?"

"Same old."

But of course it isn't same old. I'm with Ranger now, finally. And I am happier than I ever dreamed possible.

I looked past Anthony and met Ranger's eyes. This time I understood his message, the message he's been sending me all these years. His eyes said he loves me.

_I love you too, Ranger. Always have. Always will._

_I'll figure out Anthony another a day..._

**The end**

* * *

><p>A new Mercenary Ranger story will start soon. I hope you all enjoyed the ride so far.<p>

Y'all got a twofer from me today [7.29/30.11] so please be sure to go read my 17 outtake The Closet. It has, tah dah, smut, lol. Sort of...

thanks for reading/ reviews are the best! sunny


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